


Making Out

by newtporn



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Hickeys, M/M, Making Out, Minho loves every inch of Newts body, Neck Kissing, Shy Thomas, detailed, thomas has a crush on both of them bye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtporn/pseuds/newtporn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wave of something washes over him every time Newt’s lips descend on his, something vibrating and exciting and intoxicating. It makes heat prickle all over his skin, something he’s only ever felt during a very distant first kiss when he was fourteen or fifteen. He squirms from the intensity of this simple touch, anticipation almost getting the best of him, but he restrains his hands from flipping them over and kissing Newt into the mattress, roughly, messily, just the way he likes it. He settles for just stroking his hands over Newt’s cheeks, flaming from how hot he’s getting, letting Newt drive him slowly insane with the shallow lazy kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Out

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first ever work I've posted on here so I duno if I've done everything correctly
> 
> all mistakes are mine
> 
> *update: the story has been modified. the content remains the same, but I've changed almost the whole wording.

“Minho?” a voice calls quietly, and the bed dips under someone's weight. “Hey, you asleep?”

There's a moment of silence and Newt almost decides to leave it alone, but Minho moves. The muscles on his back grind together as he stretches them, his entire body slowly waking up from its slumber. When he turns to face Newt, his eyes are still half-closed, and his usually perfect hair is a dark ruffled mess.

There are tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and they’re only there when he's grinning or squinting. Newt lets himself enjoy the sight for just a second too long, still not quite sure how he got lucky enough to see Minho like this. Minho has barely registered where and who he is, as it often happens after a good nap, but the blond mop of hair hovering over him makes him smile almost instantly. 

“Hey.” Newt smiles back at him, hand reaching to run through the dark hair of its own accord. He tries to smooth the strands, but despite his efforts, they only seem to become wilder. Minho catches his wrist to pull him down and kisses him gently, sleepily. Their lips barely touch as they breathe in each other's presence, still drunk with the novelty of all this, of them. 

"Come here," Minho mumbles, cupping Newt's cheeks and pulling him on top of his body. 

“You looked so tired today." Newt pulls away slightly, poking Minho's nose with his own. “I thought I’d help you to relax,” he admits, smile becoming crooked.

Minho pulls him back in, claiming his lips with more force than before. He's almost fully awake now, and becoming increasingly aware of the heat in his belly, the weird push-and-pull feeling somewhere in his stomach he only ever gets when he's with Newt. The blonde is kissing him oh so gently, leaving sweet promises on his lips that are way too light, way too brief. It's driving Minho mad, but he lets Newt enjoy it for an instant longer before he can take control.  

Newt shifts a little, adjusting his weight, and kisses Minho properly. Minho expects for it to be gone before he can enjoy it because that's what Newt does. He kisses only a second short of giving Minho what he wants, and every time it's almost there, the ghost of tongue, the phantom taste of coffee that Newt drank that morning, but it never lasts until Newt decides so. 

He’s learnt to enjoy the beauty of it, draw as much as he can from the light teasing touches. A wave of _something_ washes over him every time Newt’s lips descend on his, something vibrating and exciting and intoxicating. It makes heat prickle all over his skin, something he’s only ever felt during a very distant first kiss when he was fourteen or fifteen. He squirms from the intensity of this simple touch, anticipation almost getting the best of him, but he restrains his hands from flipping them over and kissing Newt into the mattress, roughly, messily, just the way he likes it. He settles for just stroking his hands over Newt’s cheeks, flaming from how hot he’s getting, letting Newt drive him slowly insane with the shallow lazy kisses. He breathes into the space between them when Newt detaches their lips to change the angle, opening his eyes for a fraction of a second and riding the waves of soft pleasure with the undying grace of a tortured man.

When Newt takes his bottom lip in between his own and sucks delicately, Minho tries to lick his way inside, wanting more, way too worked up for all the mild touching they’ve done. Newt smiles, teasing him for just a second more before opening up and letting him in. It’s not wet enough and not messy enough, so Minho pushes, invading, exploring, mapping, and Newt whines a little into his mouth, hands trembling with the struggle to keep him up.

“Shit,” Newt laughs, losing his balance for a second. Minho tries to steady him, but Newt’s arms sway with effort and he has to lower himself on top of Minho, limb to limb, chest to chest, before he can collapse. Immediately, there’s more heat everywhere on his body, and Minho smiles like a complete idiot as he wraps his arms around Newt’s torso, squeezes like he would squeeze a toy. Newt lets out a breathless yelp, struggles against the smothering embrace, which only Makes Minho grin harder.

He kisses the top of Newt’s head, and then lets go, hands cradling Newt’s cheeks once more to lift his face up and kiss him again, and again. Newt pries the hands away and snakes his own up Minho’s shirt, feeling his stomach and his chest, urging him to wriggle into a sitting position. Minho complies, and once his back is against the headboard, Newt’s lean arms wrap around his neck. It’s the simplest, most ordinary action, but Minho feels his pants tighten as Newt licks into his mouth like this, straddling his legs, head positioned slightly higher than Minho’s, so he has to arch his neck for the kiss.

“Someone’s bossy today,” Minho remarks with a teasing smile as Newt moves his body against Minho’s crotch. His jeans are too thick and the friction is too distant, but Minho relishes in every second of the vague pleasure. Their lips are getting louder and wetter, and it turns him on so much, he’s practically ravishing Newt.

 _We look hot,_ he thinks, the image of them kissing like this invading his mind.

Newt holds his chin with one hand and gives him a long kiss. It’s a dance of tongues and teeth, and it’s so sweet that Minho practically shivers with the intensity of it. He has to pull Newt back by the hair to take a breath and that is when Newt decides to do the one thing he knows drives Minho insane. He licks his lips, running his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and along his bottom lip, looking directly into Minho’s hooded eyes.

Minho moans, an unexpected wave of pleasure washing over him like a tide. It’s insane and frankly a little scary, the things Newt does to him by just looking _so._ He wants to speak, wants to tell Newt how fucking gorgeous he is, but the words are muffled with Newt’s mouth. Minho’s buries his fingers in Newt’s hair, caresses the messy strands with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

His brain takes him back to yesterday evening, his hands clutched in Newt’s hair, always in Newt’s hair. Newt’s letting him take control, like he always does, and Minho pushes Newt’s head down way too hard and way too fast. His hips are bucking up into Newt’s mouth, and everything’s white with pleasure; the only thing that grounds him is the softness of Newt’s hair under his fingers.

He has to undo the button on his jeans because it’s becoming painful. Newt’s kissing his jaw, and his hips are moving over Minho’s bulge, making both of them whine helplessly.

The slow and touchy pace is agonizing for Minho; his hands itch to pull Newt’s hair hard and bite him until he bleeds. Newt is playing with him like a cat plays with a mouse, and Minho lets him have it, trusts Newt to hold him over the edge. He’s never been so patient for anyone, but something about the way Newt’s lips make him feel, something about the torturous kisses is hotter than any rough fuck Minho’s ever had.     

Newt’s peppering his collarbone with kisses, small tiny ones. Minho pushes the back of his head a little forward, urging him to suck, to bite, to do _anything,_ but Newt takes his time. His kisses become increasingly sloppy, and Minho’s skin prickles with every wet patch of skin Newt leaves exposed to the cold air.   

“Take it off,” Newt mumbles, tugging on the hem of Minho’s white tank top.

Minho’s hands glide down Newt’s bare shoulders and arms for a few seconds, repeating the up-and-down movements a few times just because Minho loves feeling Newt’s smooth skin under his touch. Then suddenly, he squeezes Newt’s biceps tight to his pale sides and lifts the boy to then immediately drop him on the bed and swap positions. Minho straddles Newt’s hips with a shit eating grin and winks, before throwing his arm over his head and pulling his shirt up by the collar to take it off. He flexes his shoulder and leans down, eyes on level with Newt’s.

Newt shifts, the anticipation on his face making him look almost nervous. He knows his teasing is over and Minho’s taking control, and that could mean multiple things for Newt depending on Minho’s mood. He looks so trusting, so pretty, _so fuckable._ Minho would honestly pay to just sit and jerk off to Newt’s flustered state like this.

“Stop staring,” Newt grumbles. His head jerks back as Minho pulls on his hair roughly. Newt hisses from the unexpected pressure and feels the all too familiar shaking in his legs when Minho starts kissing his exposed neck.

He’s still not sure if it’s a fetish thing. They should probably have that conversation after this – whatever it happens to be – is over. Minho loves his neck. He loves to bite it, make the skin go purplish-red, feel the strained veins with his tongue, suck on the collarbone so hard that Newt starts shaking under him. At times when they are having lazy evenings on the couch, watching TV, he spends hours and hours kissing each and every inch of Newt’s neck.

Newt moans. Minho pulls back a little and slides his finger down Newt’s throat, marveling at the sensation of the vulnerable skin. If Newt was sensitive to tickle, he would have reflexively kicked him in the balls.

Newt knows there’s still a few fading hickeys on his neck from the last time Minho’s taken the time to thoroughly work on his neck. He remembers the first ever time Minho kissed his pulse gently, and asked if it’s okay to leave a mark there. He can’t even recall for how long his neck felt on fire from all the biting that happened that day. It’s more of an itch, usually. This pleasant tiny feeling that reminds Newt of how good it felt back then, when the marks were just being formed. He always found the look of love marks savage, so dark and bruise-like on his pale skin. But Minho loved marking him so he didn’t mind.

He’s learnt that Minho’s favorite spot is his jawline, somewhere near his chin, just a little bit to the left or to the right. There was a tiny red trail over there almost 24/7. And perhaps under his chest; he remembers Minho absently telling him that he loves to make that part of skin go red.

Sometimes, when they make out, Minho goes completely wild and leaves no inch of untouched skin on Newt, marking his neck and the beneath of his chin so that it’s almost painful to look at. It’s not rare to see Newt’s neck entirely bruised, various old and new hickeys all over his skin, like a map. Minho touches them, kisses over them, cherishes them, like they’re precious to him, like he’s proud to have Newt like this.  

Newt gasps when Minho’s teeth sink into his chest and squeeze, the bite so sudden and coarse that Newt’s back arches from the bed with pain. He lets out a tiny “ahh” when Minho squeezes his teeth even harder, feeling how he’s tearing skin, digging onto flesh and freeing thin dribbles of blood. Newt winces in pain, shutting his eyes so tight, a tiny teardrop appears in the corner.

That’s when Minho chooses to let go, licking away the little bit of blood with his tongue, trying to sooth the ache he caused, and examining curiously the weird teeth imprint he left on the boy’s chest.

“Fuck,” Newt breathes, overwhelmed. “What was that for?”

There's no response, Minho’s too busy. Newt feels his mouth hollow as he sucks on another spot. The pain from the bite fades into a mild throbbing ache, and mixes in with his pleasure.

The slow pace is hard to maintain; both are fidgety and on the edge. Newt can’t help but slide his fingers down and undo his belt, struggling to do it with only one hand.

Minho grabs his wrist and pins it to the bed on his side. He pulls away from the skin he was exploring and shakes his head.

“Don’t be naughty. I let you have your time with me,” he comments, eyeing the darkening marks on the spots he’s been kissing.

He strokes Newt’s hair again and looks into his eyes thoughtfully. His thoughts are spinning like crazy in his mind, trying to decide whether to kiss Newt’s lips again or do something else, and when he’s made his mind, he goes for Newt’s shoulder. Tugging at a patch of skin with his teeth, he grazes the surface a little, just enough to have tiny red parallel lines over there as if someone scratched them with nails.

Satisfied with what he just created on Newt’s body, he leans in again, this time to suck, pulling another moan of bliss out of Newt.

“Bloody hell, Minho,” he sighs, completely taken away with the intimacy of the moment and how good it feels. And they haven’t even taken their pants off yet.

Minho closes his eyes for a second at the sound of his name on Newt’s lips. “I wanna fuck you,” he says, barely holding it together. “Don’t tempt me.” He wants to extend this dry-humping-making-out-marking-skin  _whatever_  session for as long as they can go without coming.

Newt moans in response, burning all over, wanting more so bad, so hard, it’s painful. His hips buck up and he tries to create more friction, anything that would bring release; Minho has to use all his willpower not to flip him in bed and mark his back just yet. It’s too soon.

Newt wants to kiss his body too, perhaps leave a few brute-looking marks here and there, but he knows Minho won’t let him. Not because he doesn’t want to be marked by Newt, just because he wants all the time for himself. He’s too greedy to let go of Newt’s body for even a minute. Minho enjoys having this smooth pale skin all for himself, doing to it whatever crosses his mind, exploring every mole, every scar, making it his over and over again.

“Min, _please_ ,” Newt begs, desperate, uncaring. His legs are shaking so hard, he wouldn’t be able to stand. “I’m-”

**Ding-dong.**

Minho groans, head falling back to look at the ceiling in annoyance. He leans back down and kisses Newt’s lips, determined to ignore the intruding sound. He’s sucking on Newt’s bottom lip, with Newt’s hands caressing the tiny hair strands on the back of his neck when the sound repeats.

**Ding-dong.**

“Are we gonna open?” Newt asks, not moving his hands away from Minho’s nape.

“We’re in the middle of something here, babe.” Minho leans down again and starts sucking Newt’s earlobe.

**Ding-dong, ding-dong.**

**Ding-dong.**

“Pizza Hut delivery here. Hello?” a voice comes from outside.

“What the hell,” Minho groans, dropping on his back next to Newt in bed and frowning.

“I, uh. I ordered pizza before I came to wake you up,” Newt confesses guiltily.

He moves to sit down, but Minho grabs his arms and pulls him back. They kiss once more, and Newt almost gives in, but then he pushes away slightly. “Give me a second, alright?” he whispers against Minho’s lips.

He’s dizzy when he stands up and it takes him a moment to gain his balance. Not even bothering to put on any shoes or a shirt, he wanders over to the door only in jeans.

**Ding-dong.**

“I’m coming, for fuck’s sake!” Newt yells, making his way to the door extremely slowly, as if feeling the weight of each hickey on his body.

The door is unlocked and opened in one swift movement. A dark-eyed boy with heaps of tiny moles on his face, about a few inches shorter than Newt is standing on the threshold.

“Two pepperoni pizzas with extra cheese,” he reads the order and then, the second he looks up at Newt, his cheeks immediately go red.

The poor boy can’t help himself; he glances dazedly at the number of red marks and scratches all over the blonde’s bare body.

“Well-” Newt quickly peeks at the badge on the boy’s chest. It says _Thomas_. “Oh, well, Tommy. Couldn’t’ve picked a better bloody moment to show up.” He scoffs at the sight of the delivery guy examining his body, shining under the dim light of the room from how wet and wretched it is.

“Uh, I- Um, I just… I-” the boy starts mumbling, and Newt has to stifle a laugh.

“How much?”

“$25,50.” The boy is completely flustered, blush literally burning through his whole face.

“Minho, do you have five dollars?” Newt yells suddenly, after shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and pulling them back out, turning his neck back into the apartment and unintendedly demonstrating the sharpness of his divine collarbone with half a dozen of hickeys on it.

“Uh, yeah. Here.” Someone responds calmly from the apartment. A very shirtless Asian guy walks up to the blonde and gives him a couple of banknotes.

Thomas gulps loudly at the sight of these two.

The blonde guy looks completely godlike with his messy dirty-colored hair and those love marks all over his muscly chest and stomach. He straight up looks like a model; Thomas thinks he will get cut and start bleeding if he touches that jawline.

Then the Asian, ripped like an actual athlete, with huge tanned biceps and pecs, and _ohmygod_ his abs! His jeans are hanging dangerously low, and the v-line disappearing into the hem of his Calvin Klein underwear is practically _asking_ to be touched.  

They are ridiculously good looking separately, but standing together, both ruffled and half-naked and gorgeous… it’s too much.

“Are you done staring, kid?” Minho laughs, taking the boxes of pizza from his hands and turning around to go inside.

Thomas swears he saw the blonde one winking at him before the door clicked shut.

Holy shit.

 

**Author's Note:**

> IM SORRY if you read it and it was bad // just a waste of time.


End file.
